Would that I could quote the whole thing. That's the best way to sell you on Maggie Nelson’s Bluets. I can describe it: Bluets is a book of prose poetry consisting of 240 meditations/aphorisms on the color blue, which is used (blue is) as a metaphor and symbol for deep, implacable heartbreak. It is the story of a heartbreak, a break up, and other sadnesses, an illness; of ecstatic grief, manic mourning, stillborn love, little deaths, and the remembrance of blow jobs past. La douleur exquise! But what an understatement that synopsis is.
Bluets is a book that captures—that can maybe even incite—the emotional tides of maybe-crazy, dumb-desirous love and loss. Of pain that morphs into madness, into Pure Thought, Pure Feeling, the Divine. Of sensual relationships that feel like Truth; the risky ones, the creative ones.
The book itself is risky and creative, or it would have sounded so before it had materialized (a book of aphorisms on the color blue, okay…), but its execution: Bluets feels as though it came from someplace else, someplace higher than humans usually know, struck like Zeus’ bolt down from some Romantic art field of form. Its form is whole.
Maggie Nelson's prose pulsates like the it’s-probably-just-pheromones-but-feels-like-oh-God-yes-yes-yes passionate relationships it describes. It’s sexy, it’s just fucking sexy. That Eros fraps Thanatos sexy sex. That’s it. Enjoy!